


Gasper

by inbox



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Asphyxiation, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Breathplay, F/M, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:30:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbox/pseuds/inbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a lot a man can do with an NCR standard issue rawhide belt looped 'round his neck.</p><p>Written for the Fallout Kink Meme, prompt of any character indulging in asphyxiophilia/breath play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gasper

Craig thought that he'd probably been born to it - he'd had his umbilical cord wrapped tight around his neck when his ma birthed him onto the kitchen tiles, and he guessed that just set him up for life with a taste for the sensation of struggling for breath.

Polly was the one to turn him onto it when he was all of fourteen, his hands clumsy on her hips, heels digging for grip in the soft sorghum piles as she bounced on his cock and slicked his still-sparse pubic hair with her wetness. She'd slipped and caught her balance with a hand hard on his windpipe, and the shock of gulping for breath and finding nothing but a closed throat made his eyes fly open and his dick harder than 'bout anything he'd discovered yet.  
A decade and change later and not much hard changed, 'cept Polly was probably an iron-handed brahmin rancher with a squad of kids and not much of a sense of humour left. Besides, he didn't think it would be seemly to turn up on her doorstep and ask if she remembered that time behind the barn and would she be amenable to a rematch.

Since then, well. Experimentation and practice makes perfect, and there's a lot a man can do with an NCR standard issue rawhide belt looped 'round his neck with the ends in the hands of a pretty girl encouraged by caps or curiosity or both. It wasn't needed, wasn't required, but gods almighty, Craig Boone swore that nothing short of rapture could compare to the kind of orgasm he got when his chest burned for air and the stars themselves were exploding behind his eyelids.

Carla wanted nothing to do with it, of course, saying she'd rather slap some sense into him than choke him. He'd given up trying to explain it - _s'not about hurting me, sweetheart, it's about... control. Losing it. You know I trust you with my life, Carla..._ \- and after a while resorted to grabbing her hand as they fucked, clutching it to his throat in a kind of mute plea to indulge him just once. He didn't press the issue after she'd fallen pregnant. Seemed a bit off then. Being a gasper felt a bit bent when there was a baby on the way.

That'd been then, a long time ago. It'd been months since he kissed Carla goodbye that night, and now there was no one around to keep him on the straight and narrow. No one to keep him grounded, and no little chime of _you're gonna be a daddy_ to temper his appetite away from edging into outright destruction.

The casino apartment was empty and he knew he had a good hour to himself. Cass and the doctor were in, Raul too, all getting a day or two of rest before going back to whatever it was they did when Courier wasn't around. Thick as thieves, all of them. Day and night in every way, but they clicked and spent their time sitting in the back garden lounge at The Tops, pants cuffed up and their feet dangling in the pool. They didn't invite him, and that was ok. He didn't have much to talk about.

So a few hours free until they came home drunk off Courier's dime, weaving into the master bedroom to listen to the radio with the volume right up and laugh at their own jokes. That was ok too. A couple of hours to do the deed and tidy up, steal some healing salve from the doctor's supply and slather it on any bruises. By the time it worked he'd be out like a light, sheets pulled hard up under his chin and his back facing the guest room door. No one's found him out yet, and with a bit of luck none of them ever would.

He's got it his set-up down to a fine art now, nothing fancy. Heck, being fancy about it would probably make him terminally fuck up and end up being a pop-eyed, blue-faced warning used by the Followers to scare thrillseekers onto the straight and narrow.

Boone looped a belt though the foot of the bed, tugged it hard to check nothing would break. He buckled it on a close notch, firm against the rise and fall of his Adams apple as he swallowed, muscles rolling against rawhide. It was simple and to the point, no fussing about and losing his flow. Lean forward to put pressure on his windpipe, lean back to catch his breath. He didn't bother shucking off his clothes, just unzipped and pushed his shorts down enough to free his cock. The anticipation was almost better than the act, and he was already hard and ready by the time he gave his cock a perfunctory tug and closed his eyes.

Boone's fantasy life had never been elaborate and he didn't start embroidering it now. He thought about Carla naked on the bed when he finished his shift, the way she'd kick her legs in the air like an old world pinup and offer him a glimpse of her cunt. He thought about how hot she felt when he fucked her on mornings like that, the chill deep in his bones seeping away as she wrapped her legs around his hips and spurred him deeper and faster. He thought about the Doc, what he'd be like in bed. Pictured him kneeling over his face, his hearing muffled by those big pale thighs, mouth full of his thick dick, filled to choking. He bet he'd be down for it too, wouldn't need much convincing. Could picture it too, Arcade's big hands braced against the headboard and demanded he lick and suck harder if he wanted him to sit on his face and send him into oxygen-starved delirium under his ass. He'd make him earn it.

_God._

That worked, gut clenched as he hunched over with his dick twitching hard and a slick of semen sliding between his fingers. The belt dug hard into his throat but he didn't lean back, instead pushing harder and harder into the burn as he forced himself to keep jerking off past the point where pleasure danced equal to a tang of pain. One beat more. One more. He would’ve kept going too, chased the burn in his chest for just a heartbeat longer but there was a noise, low and out of place. A raspy cough, audible even through ringing in his ears.

_Not me._

Boone's eyes flew open, instinct and self preservation sent him reeling backwards, the belt dropping away hard on his collarbone and then there was air, _so much air_. The rush of oxygen made him twilight for a moment, and when he came to there was Raul, casually leaning against the wall and nudging an ancient basketball with the toe of his boot.

"I knocked," the ghoul said, as relaxed as if they were discussing the weather. He gave the basketball a gentle kick, both of them watching it roll to a stop against Boone's outstretched legs. "Guess you were too busy to answer."

In Boone’s head _It's not what it looks like_ warred with _mind your own fucking business, shuffler_ and instead he took a third option, gawping mutely at his unexpected audience. The belt creaked as it draped loose down his neck.

_Goddamnit._

Raul didn't say anything, just eyeballed the ceiling until Boone unbuckled the belt with clumsy fingers, letting it hang limp and abandoned as he shakily got to his feet and zipped himself up.

"It's..." was all he got out.

"None of my business what you do, pendejo," Raul said, the insult sounding almost affectionate. "I only came back to get a fresh shirt 'cause someone thought it'd be funny to toss a drink on an old man. You're lucky someone didn't decide to give Blondie a beer bath."

He tried again. "Don't..."

"Don't tell or don't try?" Raul laughed, a wheezy rattle as he pulled a clean set of clothes from the dresser. "No interest, trust me. I want a thrill, I go and buy the lunch special without asking what the meat is." He shut the drawer with a thump and turned back to Boone, still frozen at the foot of the bed. "I'm old. I've seen a lot of things, done a lot of wild stuff. You with your pito out playing gasper with a belt doesn't even make what's left of my eyebrows raise."

The ghoul stopped at the bedroom door, his free hand already unsnapping the front of his beer-soaked coveralls. "If you're planning on knifing an old man in his sleep for spilling your secret, I'll save you the headache of thinking it out. No plans on saying anything. Those other two, they can find out for themselves if you're stupid enough to let them."

Boone blinked, self-consciously rubbing at the weal he could feel over the ridge of his Adams apple. "Wasn't planning on it," he said eventually. Fantasising about the Doc was one thing, but having him know about his predilections was another cock-wilting world of horror entirely... maybe. Probably best he didn't know either way.

"Wise," said Raul pleasantly. "Good move. You want my advice? Lock the door next time."


End file.
